


Tea and Cookies

by froggy (therealfroggy)



Series: Tea and Cookies [2]
Category: Prison Break
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 13:27:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealfroggy/pseuds/froggy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to <em>What's Up, Doc?</em>. T-Bag has broken out of jail with the others, and whom will he go to visit? Why, Dr. Kippler, of course! Not canon-compatible after s1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stalker, stalker

Teddy sighed and shifted his weight to the other foot. Leaning against a wall for twenty minutes certainly did nothing to ease the weariness of being on the run. His neck felt like it was about to snap, too; he'd been swivelling his head to and fro looking for cops and possible witnesses every waking hour for the last three weeks.

But this was the only point from which he had a clear view of the office building unless he stood in the middle of the street, where everyone would see him. At least in the dingy alleyway, right next to the large container, people wouldn't notice him unless they looked right at him.

The office building. _Her_ office building. Marna Kippler's office. It hadn't been too hard to find; even though he didn't have the card any more he knew it by heart. He'd memorized it; just like Susan's address. But unlike Susan, he wanted to see Marna alive. And he knew she'd be happy to see him. _She'd better be._

The front doors opened, and someone came walking down the fancy marble steps. The whole place was fancy, really; the people who worked there could only be wealthy, high class citizens. Uptown folks. Teddy grinned and thought about a song he'd heard once; he sure hoped Marna hadn't stopped looking for a “down town” man.

And he thought back to the last time he'd seen her; when he'd still had a left hand and they'd done naughty things in the psych room with the bulls just outside. When she'd smiled at him and said, “If you're ever in New York...” He felt his jeans tighten and hoped his Cookie would leave work soon. Because he'd be waiting for her when she did.

***

There she was. She was walking down the stairs and all his troubles had been worth it. There was no mistaking that hair; golden caramel flowing down over her shoulders as she turned and headed for the nearest subway station.

The walk, too; he guessed she wasn't the only woman who did it but hell, the way she swung her hips and flicked her hair like she owned the place reminded him of how she'd looked when they walked through GenPop together and he'd offered her his pocket.

Ignoring the throb in his body, Teddy exited the alleyway and followed her, keeping his hat low over his eyes. It might look a bit too fashionable but it kept his eyes partially obscured. Not his fault the guy he'd stolen it from, had to be such a fashion queen.

No one spared him a second glance as he slipped onto the subway, walking slowly past the seats, looking for her. These people were all busy and important in their own world; they wore suits and carried briefcases and had no time for observing a stranger with a fruity hat. They barely looked up from their newspapers as he passed them, careful to neither meet their eyes nor avoid them.

There. Right there, sitting next to a grey-haired man in a grey suit; Cookie was looking out of the window at the passing lights, absent-mindedly stroking a finger back and forth over the handle of her briefcase. T-Bag licked his lips as his gaze followed that finger.

The man in the grey suit was tapping his fingers impatiently against his knee. T-Bag took a seat, careful not to attract attention by behaving oddly or looking around too much. He focused on Cookie and tried to ignore the paranoid feeling that one of these people were going to see him, recognize his face and call the cops.

It felt like forever before Cookie rose to get up. Teddy followed silently; letting his eyes take in her entire body as she strode purposefully through the underground station, up the stairs and across the street above. When she finally turned up the steps of an apartment building, Teddy slowed down and waited until the door closed behind her. Wouldn't do to ruin his surprise by letting her see him too soon.

The place wasn't nearly as fancy as the office building. Simple entrance door, red brick walls, nothing impressive. But no graffiti either, and the whole neighbourhood looked clean and decent. _This book certainly ain't anythin' like its cover._ Of all the places she could have lived, this was not the one brought to mind to him.

Stepping up to the door, Teddy looked at the various names presented by the speaker system. Kippler; top floor. Now, how to get in...?

_“Yes?”_

“Good afternoon, Mr. Danielson. This is Ted from FedEx; I've got a delivery for –”

_“Yes, yes, just come on up,”_ snapped an irritable male voice from the speaker. A buzzing sound rang through the evening, and Teddy opened the door and stepped inside.

***

Marna hummed to herself as she rinsed the last shampoo suds out of her hair, then turned off the shower. She felt a bit giddy; she'd had that tingling feeling of being watched all the way home, but she guessed she was only being paranoid.

But she should watch out. Theodore Bagwell had been on the outside for three weeks. The escape had been all over the news; there were dangerous men on the loose and the authorities could not risk keeping it a secret.

She didn't feel unsafe. A bit uncertain, maybe, but she didn't fear for her life. T-Bag had made it pretty clear he wasn't going to kill her; he seemed to like her enough to leave her alive. Or maybe she just wasn't the type he preferred to kill. No matter the reason; if he had wanted her dead he would have killed her while she was at his mercy in Fox River.

But she felt exposed. Not because T-Bag was out there somewhere, but because all of a sudden, everyone who knew her professionally seemed to think she knew exactly where to find him. She had been contacted by police officers, the FBI and the Secret Service and God knew which agencies, by politicians and by other psychologists. They all knew she was the only doctor to have interacted with him (though they didn't, of course, know exactly how far she had taken her interviews) without being killed, and apparently, that made her the only way of catching him short of picking the country apart.

When she had wanted recognition in the field, she never imagined she would slap a rude hag of a woman across the face because said hag suggested – in front of all her colleagues – that Marna was hiding Bagwell's whereabouts for her own “personal reasons”, whatever those were supposed to be.

Still humming, Marna wrapped a towel around herself and stepped out of the bathroom to head for her bedroom.

“You should change your lock, Cookie. This one's too easy to pick.”

Marna stopped dead in her tracks, her entire body frozen in mid step. She couldn't believe her eyes. Right there, lounging on her living room sofa, was none other than Theodore Bagwell. His goatee was no longer neatly trimmed like it had been when she last saw him, and his blue cap was replaced by a dark green hat, reminding her of _Queer eye for the straight guy_. He was resting one arm on the back of the sofa, the other one was hidden from her sight behind his leg.

“You look as if you've seen a ghost,” he remarked, licking his lips and looking at her body appraisingly.

“T-Bag,” she finally managed, getting over the first shock of seeing him there. “I see you weren't joking with regards to visiting me.”

“Now why would I do that, Cookie? When I knew where you were workin' and all. You ain't too hard to find.”

“I guess not,” Marna said, suddenly aware of the fact that she was only wearing a towel. “Excuse me for just a moment.” She took a hesitant step towards her bedroom.

T-Bag grinned at her. “No need to trouble yourself on my account, Cookie. I ain't the modest sort.”

Marna couldn't help but smile as she quickly whipped out a dressing gown, tied it firmly at the waist, and reappeared in the living room. “I see you haven't changed much.”

“Well, I ain't sure I agree with that,” he said, something dark flashing in his eyes as he lifted his left arm. Marna stepped closer, then realized he was talking about his hand. Fascinated, she stepped over and sat down next to him.

“What happened?” she asked, taking the hand in question gently in her own and studying it. It didn't feel right; cold and stiff like... like it was dead.

“Guy I was escapin' with; he didn't like me much,” T-Bag explained, letting her run her fingers over the appendage. “Seems I was interferin' with his plans. Cut it straight off with an axe.”

Marna's gaze whipped to meet T-Bag's. “An axe?”

“Yes sir,” T-Bag said, “Kicked me out of the team. So I found some ice, y'know, for my hand. Found a doctor; asked no questions, just sewed it right back on. Didn't do the job right, though; I can't feel a thang. But I can move it a bit, and I won't bleed to death.”

Marna found herself transfixed by the almost dead hand. The pain it must have caused him. The loss it brought; she remembered perfectly well what his hands were capable of, and not only with a shank or a woman, either.

“Can I offer you anything to drink? Are you hungry?” She knew she should just make an excuse to leave the apartment, call the police and make sure Theodore Bagwell spent the rest of his life in solitary. But she couldn't do that to him. Not after what had been. Not after what he'd been through.

“You're offerin' me somethin' to eat? When you know half of America is on my ass to get me back to prison?” He sounded incredulous, as if he'd been expecting her to fight him and scream for the police.

“Yes,” she simply replied, getting up. “I don't have much lying around, but I could make us pasta.”

T-Bag did the most amazing thing, then. He laughed. “I sure did pick the most twisted lil' thing in the States, didn't I?”

Marna smiled, relaxing. He wasn't going to hurt her. She got up, then crossed to the kitchen part of the room that doubled as living room and kitchen. “So how about that drink? I've got water, juice, cider, beer...”

“What kinda cider?” T-Bag asked.

“Apple cider. From somewhere in the South, I think.”

“Sounds perfect, Cookie. You knew I was comin', didn't ya?” he chuckled.

“I wondered whether you would,” Marna said, stopping for a moment to look at the man sitting on her sofa. “Or if you would leave the country right away.”

She handed him a tall glass of chilled cider, noticing he was watching the gaping neck of her dressing gown.

“Nah, I wouldn't go without sayin' goodbye to ya first. Not after your “common courtesy” when you left Fox River,” he said, the fire in his eyes just like she remembered it.

Marna felt her stomach clench with desire. She'd dated after she finished her study, of course, but none of the men she'd met had been able to give her what T-Bag could. What she knew he would give her, if she played this right.

“I'll just put the pasta to boil,” she said, smiling slightly at the murderer.


	2. What's this crap we're listening to?

Marna busied herself with small tasks while waiting for the food. She set the table, put on some backdrop music, put a bottle of wine in a chiller. T-Bag never moved from the sofa, just watched her intently. It made shivers run up and down her spine like wildfire.

“What's this we're listenin' to, anyway?” he finally asked, cocking his head to one side.

“Right now? Liszt, Hungarian rhapsody number two. Classical music. The last piece was Mozart. Why, you don't like it?” Marna asked, reaching for the remote to the stereo.

“No, leave it on,” he said, rising from his seat. “Just don't fit my profile, y'know; pasta and wine and elegant music... I ain't accustomed to all this fanciness.”

As T-Bag stepped closer to her, Marna noticed the way his eyes flickered around the room.

“It bothers you,” she said, surprised. “You get uncomfortable around 'fanciness'.”

“Now, I didn't say that, Cookie,” T-Bag said, reaching out to run his fingers down her cheek. The healthy ones. “But 's a pretty long shot from prison, know what I'm sayin'?”

Marna's breath caught in her throat when T-Bag slid his hand down before closing it gently around her neck. There was barely skin contact, but it felt as if he'd tightened a piece of wire around her throat.

“You scared, Cookie?” T-Bag whispered, moving closer to her. “Ain't no need to be scared; we've done this before... Teddy ain't gonna hurt ya. You up for thirds?”

Marna shuddered as she nodded her head, leaning into his touch. He was like a wild river and the only way not to get hurt was to float in the right direction and avoid the big rocks.

Marna threw herself into that river head first and kissed him.

“Kissin'? I thought that was too personal for ya,” T-Bag mused as he broke away from the kiss, licking his lips. He dipped his head and breathed in her ear, “Not that I'm complainin'.” Then he started nipping his way down to her jaw, to her collar bone, towards where her dressing gown was tied at the waist.

“Stay,” she found herself suggesting as he started pulling at the silk belt with his teeth, “for a few hours. Eat and get some rest; you'll need it.”

Having succeeded in untying her gown, he moved back up, stopping to bite playfully at her breast. Marna moaned softly.

“A few hours? You sure I can't spend the night, Cookie? I'll be real good, promise,” he muttered into her skin, moving to lave her other breast with his tongue.

“Yes,” Marna breathed, too absorbed in the feelings he was reviving in her. “Stay...”

When T-Bag pushed her back against the kitchen counter, Marna slung her arms around his neck and pressed against him. When he picked her up and sat her down right next to her spice rack, she curled her legs up around his waist and pulled him closer still. When he started undoing his trousers, she used her feet to push them down over his hips.

“You're such an eager bunny, ain't ya, Cookie,” he panted as he slid one hand down to caress her. Marna moaned loudly when nimble fingers found the evidence of how much she wanted him.

When he pushed into her, she smiled in ecstasy and welcomed each hard thrust, each bruising finger pressing into her thigh as he gripped her legs and forced them wider apart. She threw her head back and let out a stream of moans and whimpers as he dipped his head again, biting down hard on her shoulder.

“Just as I... remembered,” he panted. “You're such a _bad_ girl, so bad... Tell me what you are, Cookie.”

“Oh yes, God, don't stop, I need this,” she moaned, tightening her grip on his shoulders. “I've been so bad, Teddy; I've been thinking about you... Oh God! ... About what you did to me... About how – yes, oh yes, harder!” Her voice died in a gasp as his hand wandered south again, dragging over all the right places on the way down and... and...

The music rose to a crescendo, he thrust deeper, and Marna thought she'd drown in it all. Liszt raced through her ears, T-Bag through her mind. She cried out as she came, cried out his name and tensed around him. Pleasure washed through her; coursed in her veins and filled her until she couldn't think, couldn't breathe. She gave in and fell limply against his body as he pulled her closer, thrusting into her harder still.

“That's my gal,” he groaned, and Marna pulled at his body with all her remaining strength. When he came, she smiled in triumph and let him jerk violently against her as his climax pumped into her body.

“Oh, Cookie, you know just how to drive me crazy, don't ya?” He slowed down, stopped. They were both heaving for breath, sweaty and sated. On her kitchen counter. She almost laughed at the thought. Of all the places to have a dangerous criminal shag her, she'd been done on the kitchen counter. Next to the spice rack.

“Yeah, I think you do,” he hissed in her ear, and she was pulled from her musings by the sensuous way his tongue was now playing with her earlobe. “The way you dress... Your eyes when you look at me...” He nipped lightly at the tender skin just beneath his ear. “You doin' it on purpose, Cookie?”

“Well, my state of dress this evening was hardly intentional... Teddy,” she said, pressing her bare breasts to his fully clothed chest. “But the way I look at you, now, that's another story.”

T-Bag pulled back and did his trousers back up. Marna tied her dressing gown shut again and slid down off the counter.

“I think the pasta's ready,” she said, as composed as if she hadn't just had her best sex in months. Six months and two weeks, to be exact; since that last day in Fox River.

***

“You gonna call up them cops the second I'm out of here tomorrow, Cookie?”

Marna locked eyes with him over her wine glass. He looked curious, but there was something else. Uncertainty? Anger?

“No,” she replied honestly, “I'm going to continue denying any knowledge of your whereabouts, as I have been doing for the last three weeks. You know, it took them no more than nine hours after your escape before they called me.”

“They been bothering you a lot?” T-Bag asked, grinning at her.

“Nothing I can't handle, but it is a bit annoying. Reporters keep calling my office, newspapers nagging my publisher for the rights to reprint the juicier parts of my study... At least the feds have stopped trying to set up surveillance in my apartment.”

T-Bag nearly choked on his food. “Here?”

“Don't worry, if there had been any, you would have been in handcuffs already,” Marna assured him, smiling slightly. “They have no real reason, but they've found everyone you've ever known, desperately trying to track you down. You should leave the country as soon as you can.”

“I would, see, but there's a few problems with that, Cookie,” T-Bag said, taking another bite of his pasta in cheese-and-ham sauce. “This is good, by the way, my compliments. But y'know, it ain't easy to get anywhere when you got no connections and the cops on your ass.”

Marna watched as T-Bag ate, trying to analyse the situation. He needed to get out of the country. She should do her duty and have him thrown back in prison. He wanted to get away, she wanted him to get away.

“I'll help you,” she heard herself say, reaching a conclusion. “You choose where you want to go, and I'll help you get there.”

T-Bag, brow furrowing in confusion, looked up at her. “Now, why would you wanna do that, Cookie?”

“I don't know. Perhaps because of our... history. Maybe because I'm stupid enough to trust you. But probably because we're only human.”

T-Bag looked at her for a long time. He just sat there, dark eyes again burning with hell fire like they had so many months ago, and watched her.

“All right,” he finally said, “Brazil. Some country village or somethin'.” Then, after another lengthy pause, he added, “You wanna go with me, Cookie?”

Marna didn't know what to say. It took her some time to realize the answer. “I do. But I can't. I have a job, acquaintances, responsibilities. You understand that, don't you, Teddy?”

He sighed. “Not really. But I ain't gonna push it. You just remember where you send me off to, Cookie, and next time it'll be your turn to visit me.”

Marna smiled at him. This was probably the most dysfunctional relationship she would ever come across, and she didn't even want to end it. “I will,” she promised. “Someday, I will.”


	3. Go

“Mind if I take a quick shower, Cookie?”

“Not at all. There are fresh towels in the cupboard next to the shower stall,” Marna said, clearing away the plates and glasses.

As the water started running, Marna could hear T-Bag singing; some country style love song. She smiled to herself as she started the dishwasher. He had a good voice; not necessarily a great opera tenor but pleasant to listen to. She sighed and stretched her neck from side to side a few times. She had to think.

She had already promised to help him get out of the country; a promise she had every intention of keeping. She supposed she should be feeling guilty and evil like hell, but as it was, she had no moral qualms about getting him a good disguise and a one-way ticket to Brazil.

What worried her, was what she wanted to do with herself afterwards. As a responsible adult, she knew she couldn't just quit everything and leave for Brazil with a convicted murderer. And rapist. And paedophile. The list seemed endless.

She had her job, her apartment to think about. She had to make a living. And there was her family back in Ireland. And her social life.

_No, wait, strike that; I haven't had a decent social life for years._

She really didn't like the people in her New York network; in fact, if she were to move, she would miss them least of all.

But she just couldn't risk everything she had, everything she had worked so hard for, to just run off and live with a convict on the run. Especially not one who might kill her if he got carried away.

The only problem was, she wanted to.

***

Marna was standing in her bedroom, looking for something else to wear, when a noise behind her made her turn around. In the doorway stood T-Bag, wearing nothing but the towel wrapped around his waist. He was leaning on the door frame, looking at her and sucking on his bottom lip. Water was dripping from his still wet hair, running down his face and body in little streams.

Marna felt new ripples of desire spread from her abdomen to her entire body.

“Watcha lookin' for?” he asked, taking a step into the room.

“I was looking for clothes,” she replied, “but something tells me those might be unimportant at the moment?”

“Good girl, Cookie.”

He crossed the distance between them with a few sauntering steps before reaching out to tug languidly at the belt of her dressing gown. “Y'know, it just crossed my mind that you ain't never seen me with no clothes on.”

Marna smiled and daringly placed a hand flat against his bare chest. “That's right.”

“And what's the judgement, now that you have?” he asked, untying her belt and fondling her breast roughly.

“Take me,” she whispered as he started running his hands over her entire body with slow, insistent strokes. T-Bag smirked nastily at her, pulling the dressing gown from her shoulders before stepping back to look at her hungrily.

“Damn but you ain't half bad lookin',” he said, licking his lips and pulling her closer to him. From the hardness grinding into her hip, Marna could tell he was neither lying nor exaggerating.

“On the bed,” she moaned, distracted by the way his wonderful hands were grasping, stroking, demanding her entire body.

“Whatever the lady requests,” he hissed in her ear, walking her backwards until her knees bumped into the mattress and she laid down on the bed, spread out on display for him. Just waiting for him to have his way with her.

T-Bag quickly dispatched of his towel and sank to the bed on top of her. Marna writhed underneath him as he moved quickly up her body, skin sliding against skin until she thought she'd go mad.

T-Bag's fingers dug into her thighs as he spread her legs, held them apart in an iron grip. Marna arched her back, trying to gain more contact, offering herself up in every way imaginable. When he thrust into her, she cried out in pleasure and moved her hands to cling greedily to his waist.

“You been doin' a lot o' screamin' for me tonight, Cookie,” he groaned, thrusting harder still.

“Yes,” Marna panted, “oh, God, harder...”

Earth shatteringly, explosively, sinfully good. Marna moaned and gasped and pressed closer and wrapped her legs around his hips, pushing back against each thrust. T-Bag grinned at her and slowed down until he was moving with deep, slow thrusts.

“Teddy, please,” Marna whimpered. “I need... oh God!”

“What, Cookie? C'mon, tell me what you want... Beg for it,” he whispered in her ear, grabbing both of her wrists with his good hand and holding them down over her head.

“Please,” she moaned, bucking against him, the gentleness of his movements unnerving. “Harder. I want it faster, harder. More. Please, Teddy, fuck me –”

T-Bag groaned into her skin, biting roughly at her breast before increasing his thrusts, upping tempo and force alike. Marna crooned in pleasure and when his hand started stroking her roughly, she screamed his name and came.

“Cookie, I'd fuck you just to hear that,” he panted, releasing her hands. Marna, heaving for breath, could barely keep her legs around him as he kept fucking her through her climax. She whimpered, pulling on him with her entire body.

Within moments, he gave a loud groan and came, thrusting deep once more before sinking down on top of her.

“I ain't never gonna find a fuck as good as you, Cookie,” T-Bag concluded, rolling off her to lie on the bed next to her. “You sure you can't go with me?”

“Pretty sure,” Marna replied, sighing contentedly and closing her eyes briefly. “But I'm also pretty sure you won't miss me all that much.”

“Won't I?”

“No. Your profile suggests you would kill me if you got too... shall we say, lost in the moment? and that love and faithfulness are concepts rather incomprehensible to you. And I should know; my study was about ninety per cent of that profile,” she said casually, hoping this wouldn't anger him. After all, having your personality mapped out like that tend to annoy people.

“Well, there's one thing that study o' yours didn't account for,” he said, rolling over on his elbow to look at her almost seriously.

The look he gave her made Marna's throat constrict. There was something unrecognisable there; something she had never seen there earlier.

“And what's that?” she asked, suddenly aware – again – that she wasn't wearing anything.

“That every rule has its exceptions, Cookie; even for a nut case like me. See, I might be beyond the help of any correctional facility known to man, but that don't mean I ain't got feelings. And you're not like my earlier... escapades. I didn't wanna hurt them; I just had to. Now with you, I don't.

“And you're a better lay too,” he added, grinning at her before lying back down, one hand lazily stroking the skin of her thigh.

Marna sighed. Theodore Bagwell had her confused like nothing she had ever known before, and she didn't have the faintest idea what to do about it.

***

“So. This is farewell, then.” Marna tried to smile, but somehow that felt wrong, too. Her feelings were too mixed up; she didn't know whether to feel sad, happy, resigned or scared. Or all of them.

“No it ain't,” T-Bag grinned at her, pulling her closer, “this is.” With that, he dipped her over his arm and kissed her soundly on the lips. Marna gave a surprised squeak; something she had not heard herself utter since high school, before kissing him back.

“You come see me some day,” he said, letting her back to her feet. “Real soon.”

“I will,” she promised, baffled. “Some day. Take care, Theodore.”

Giving her one last look, T-Bag hoisted the travel bag over his shoulder and climbed into the small air plane. Marna nodded at the cockpit window, where her old room mate nodded back, and the door closed behind Theodore Bagwell as the engine started. Marna turned and walked back to the borrowed car, the sound of the plane's take-off loud in her ears.

“Some day, I will,” she muttered, yawning. She hadn't slept all night.


End file.
